


The Song

by ladyoneill



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Canon Compliant, Character Study, F/M, Mild Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-17
Updated: 2013-08-17
Packaged: 2017-12-23 18:14:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/929562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyoneill/pseuds/ladyoneill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set early in Season 2, Drusilla's illness waxes and wanes, and today she feels strong enough to hunt and make love, and she knows Spike, as always, will indulge her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Song

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Gamma_Orionis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gamma_Orionis/gifts).



> While I didn't include any of the recipient's specific "likes", I hope I met the request for Drusilla centric, season 2, Drusilla/Spike and very little Angel (only mentioned). I chose a character study (also a request) because I've been exploring Dru for a very long time and yet always find something new about her to write. Thank you Gamma-Orionis for letting me indulge my great love of this character (and Spike)! Sorry for the complete lack of porn!

Drusilla doesn't like it here. While the Hellmouth sings to her in a voice only she can hear--so lovely, it makes her dance, tra la la--there's a Slayer residing in the town.

Nothing good happens when there's a Slayer around.

Angelus abandoned her. China left her heart broken in tiny shards like glass.

She sickened for the first time. New York enlivened Spike but left her exhausted and suffering.

Now she's dying and there's a Slayer dancing around, killing them, angering Spike, and seducing her Sire.

Her Sire. Fangs pulled, claws clipped, hair shorn. The Slayer is like Deliah to his Samson, taking everything that made him a beautiful monster.

Spike says he loves the bitch.

That sickens Drusilla even more. Curled on Spike's lap, she listens to him rant about Angelus and the Slayer, how he tried to trick Spike, as if he didn't reek so obviously of a disgusting soul.

"You'll never get your soul back, right, Spike?"

At her interruption he stares at her in surprise and a bit of horror. "Why on Earth would I do that?"

Daintily she shrugs her shoulders. "Slayers turn us all around and upside down." 

She sees things in the dark corners of the room and her mind, and they make her tremble.

Drusilla cannot live without Spike. He's the only thing that held her together when Angelus left them. His love will move mountains for her but if she loses it...

Too horrible a thought to consider.

"Don't worry, luv. I plan to make this Slayer my third."

"Good," she murmurs. "I don't like her." She's never seen her, but she doesn't like her on principle. Principle is a good thing to hold onto.

Spike changes the subject. "How are you feeling tonight, pet?"

Thinking about it, wanting to be truthful, Drusilla sinks into her body, suffering the constant aches, the twinges of pain, the feeling of lethargy, but it isn't as bad as the night before so her answer is truthful. "Better."

His smile of pure joy is a thing of beauty. Cupping his chin, digging one fingernail delicately into the underside of his jaw, she kisses him. She can feel his surprise and then he's kissing her back, gently, but she can taste the burning hunger in him.

They have not loved in months and, although she long ago gave him permission to take another, he never has. His fidelity confuses her--they're demons, monsters, eternal--but she accepts it as a quirk of his personality and relishes his devotion.

Pulling back from the kiss he softly asks, "Dru?" Unsure, but so needy. His hands are trembling where they hold her narrow waist through the thin muslin of her gown. They're warm. He's recently fed.

Drusilla realizes she's hungry as well. She can't remember when she fed last. That desire supplants the one tingling between her legs and tightening her nipples. "I want to hunt." The food he brought her was stringy and tasted of dulled fear and resignation. She needs to chase down her prey.

"Luv, you're too weak."

Glaring, she pulls back from him, slides to her feet and stands with just a small sway of dizziness.

Spike's up quickly, wrapping his arms around her, holding her close. "I can bring you something."

"No." Their eyes meet.

After a minute, he sighs, looks away, and she knows she's won. "Only if you stay close to me."

Drusilla smiles and nods eagerly, then lets him take her arm and lead her out into the cool night.

The moon is a thick crescent, the stars twinkle, the night air whispers to her, and the Hellmouth sings again, a hunting. Drusilla still dislikes this town, but what lies beneath it, makes her quiver. It will heal me," she murmurs as they walk slowly along the docks towards the busier part of town.

"I'll find something, I swear."

"I know." And she does. She's not going to die here. The Hellmouth has plans for her, for their line. For Angel, though she knows better than to speak of him to Spike who is so bitter, who hates so easily. Smiling up at him, she flirts and tightens her hold on his arm. "You are my chosen knight. You'll slay all my dragons."

Spike smiles down at her and if there's a hint of sorrow and a hint of fear in his eyes, she ignores them. Regardless of what she believes, he'll worry. A part of his nature he's never outgrown. Unnatural for a demon, but Drusilla doesn't mind. It makes him even more devoted to her and she needs his devotion, his adoration. His lips brush her cheek and she coos.

There are people in the park, joggers and couples strolling and people walking dogs. She always wanted a dog but the last stray she took in, Angelus ate. Now she's too tired to remember to feed her pets and they die as well from neglect.

Something that will never happen to her.

As they join those strolling, Drusilla examines the fashions worn by the women. Short skirts and tight pants are fashionable again. Looking down at her long gown, she knows she looks out of time, but since her illness she hasn't bothered to keep up with current trends.

It's a problem many of their kind have, living in the past. More and more, as the illness has worsened, she's found herself dwelling on her early days of immortality. Living in the past is not a good thing and it worries Spike when she speaks of those long gone days. Once she's well, she'll ask Spike to take her to Paris and Rome and be fitted in all the latest styles. She'll speak only of the now and the future.

"The last time we were in Rome, I wore berets. Do women still wear berets?"

Spike looks confused and shrugs. "Dunno."

None of the women they pass are wearing hats of any kind. Drusilla makes a mieux of displeasure. She likes hats. Especially the ones with feathers and beads she wore in the 1920s in the golden age of Harlem and jazz. It can't be completely harmful to remember good times long past. If only she could make Spike see that, but he is definitely a creature living for each night.

She feels like she's stagnated, though. It makes her uncomfortable.

In 1975, when she was attacked and nearly destroyed in Prague, she wore short dresses in bright colors, low slung pants with wide legs. A few years later, in New York City, she and Spike fought one of their few battles. She wanted the glitter balls, sequined and satiny clothes and fanciful songs of disco. He insisted on the darkness, the crudeness, the violence of punk. He won and dyed his hair and artistically tore his clothes.

Looking at him, Drusilla realizes he's stagnated as well. He may live in each moment, but while jeans, shirts and t-shirts fit in any recent era, he hasn't changed his style in twenty years.

"When I'm well, we'll go to Paris and update our wardrobes. We must blend in better." As Spike gives her a confused but indulgent look, a girl walks by, headphones in her ears, and Drusilla can hear the music, different from her favorite jazz or the disco or punk rock of the '70s, but not unpleasant. The girl is wearing a short brown skirt and a low cut white top. On her feet are buttery leather boots.

Drusilla wants them and she wants her. Subtly, as the girl passes them, she nods back, and sees the predator rise in Spike's eyes. Slowly they turn and begin to follow their prey.

The boots are too big. Sitting on a bench in a darkened corner of the park, as the girl's bloody corpse cools at her feet, she wiggles her toes and frowns. "Her feet are a giant's. She deserved to be eaten."

At Spike's chuckle, Drusilla glowers at him and crosses her arms over her bosom as she kicks off the boots. When he kneels to replace her slippers, a part of her wants to kick him, but she resists because violence, even that mingled with desire, tires her so easily and worries him. Spike kisses her instep before sliding on the second leather shoe and promises, "I'll buy you a dozen pairs of boots when you're well." Rising to join her on the bench, an arm going around her, he kisses her cheek. "Did she taste good at least?"

"Yes. Fresh fear makes the blood so much better." Eyelashes fluttering, she rests her cheek on his shoulder, kisses his neck above the leather collar of his coat, murmurs, "Thank you for letting me hunt."

"You know I'll do anything you want, let you do anything you want, even against my better judgment."

She's still weak, always weak, but the hot blood taken straight from strong, young veins, has enlivened her, and the desire she felt earlier returns. Giving him a mischievous look, Drusilla slips off the bench to her knees and moves between his parted legs. The surprised look Spike gives her makes her giggle and lean forward to press a kiss to the bulge in his trousers.

"Dru?" he chokes out, then groans as she reaches for his belt. The song from the Hellmouth brightens and makes her ache with longing.

Later, Drusilla licks her lips, tasting the tang and the salt, and slides her fingers from between her legs and lifts them to his mouth. Spike's eyes are blown, his body trembling, but he leans forward and cleans the stickiness from her skin. They smile at each other, and then he scoops her up onto his lap and cradles her close.

"It's been a long time." His voice is low, hoarse, and she shivers in pleasure that she did that to him.

"The Hellmouth, the fresh blood, it invigorates me. I know it won't last," she adds sadly, and nips at his chin. "But I want to take advantage of the strength while I have it. Take me to our bed," she whispers, smiling as he shudders beneath her legs and against her side.

"It'll just make you weaker faster," Spike protests.

"I'm not going to die."

He doesn't believe her, she knows that, but still he gives in, wraps his arm around her to guide her home.

Because Spike will do anything for her, even if what she wants will make her sick and tired. He'll do it because he loves her completely and can deny her nothing.

"One time," he agrees reluctantly, "And then you rest while I get back to my research. Promise you'll sleep."

"Wear me out," she cheekily replies, and he snorts and stops their progress to kiss her with hunger and desire and love.

The Hellmouth's song changes, becoming erotic, sending fresh tingles of need through her and Drusilla breaks the kiss to pull Spike quicker towards their bed. He sighs and laughs and lets her tug him along.

There's a pulse beneath her feet to match the one deep in her belly and, for a moment, all she can hear is the Hellmouth. She wonders if the song will reach a crescendo when she does. It nearly did before, but her fingers are never as good as Spike's touch and kiss and hard manhood.

Whether it does or not, she knows the Hellmouth will save her. The town and the Slayer may try to destroy them but they won't succeed. The Hellmouth will make them happy again.

End


End file.
